Gingerbread Men
by Pinkjimmychoos
Summary: More sweet treats for Bill and Karen- continuation of my ‘food’ stories. Fluff! No actual plot. Oneshot.


**Gingerbread men**

**Summary:** More sweet treats for Bill and Karen- continuation of my 'food' stories. Fluff! No plot. And no cat this time either. Sorry, he just didn't fit.

**Rating:** K+

**Disclaimer:**The characters aren't mine (they belong to FOX and the writers of 24).

**A/N****: **Written basically to get over recurring writers block on my Nadia-Doyle oneshots which I hate, plus I'm feeling hungry and on a post-holiday diet so will munch away vicariously through other people's food. Sigh.

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Karen Hayes likes gingerbread.

She enjoys the savoury-sweet sensation that explodes on her tongue as she takes that first revered bite, revels in the texture- hard to touch with the fingertips yet surprisingly soft and chewy once in the mouth. Gingerbread is pliable, it isn't wishy-washy like some cookies- it's straight to the point. It adds lingering spice when dipped in coffee or tea, and on its own is pleasantly bitter to the tongue yet the aftertaste is sweet and wholesome.

She likes _other_ cakes and cookies too, but in the few years they've been married, Bill has gradually noticed her particular fondness for gingerbread, in particular the gingerbread men which he makes on special occasions and the Santa Claus shaped ones he elaborately decorates with piped white frosting, cherries and chocolate chips to amuse her at Christmastime. Given the option, Karen will settle for gingerbread above any other cookie on offer.

Today is one of those times.

They're in downtown DC, Karen actually has a whole weekend off for a change, and he's determined it's going to be a memorable one. Sure enough they've taken a bus to Georgetown, browsed in a couple of boutiques; he managed to initially talk her out of purchasing a particularly hideous filigree table lamp and she in turn point blank stated that he cannot _possibly_ fit any more books in his study- therefore, if _she_ is not allowed the lamp, he is not allowed any more books. The logic resonates with him, for Bill Buchanan _needs_ to read- he does not want his mind to wane in his retirement- and he gloomily backtracks to the antique store and sighs as she gleefully signs a cheque for the lamp. It will be delivered on Tuesday.

He is feeling marginally better twenty minutes later after browsing in one of Georgetown's stellar independent bookstores. Karen is down the block, window-shopping in the 'Ugg' store for new footwear for their next vacation to Vermont and he is pleased to come across a new Cussler novel he's been looking forward to reading.

"I'm glad you let me get that lamp after all," Karen says with a sunny smile, entering the shop just as the clerk is wrapping it up; "otherwise _this_ would be a double standard."

"I like to play fair," Bill responds, squeezing her hand as they leave the shop and head back out into the sunlight.

"Do you feel like getting some lunch before we head back into the centre?" Karen asks him innocently as they saunter hand-in-hand down the block, bypassing crowds of tourists.

He follows her eye-line and hides a smile at the bakery they've just walked by; it _would_ have been fairly conspicuous, save for the scent of caramelised sugar and whole-wheat flour lightly floating on the April breeze. "So by 'lunch' you infact mean 'cookies?'" he deduces smartly.

"Aha, Mr Buchanan, you got it in one," she says with a disarming smile.

He taps his temple, the hair is turning whiter there now and Karen thinks it makes him look distinguished; "hey, I wasn't Director of CTU _just_ because of my good looks," he says with a fond smile, "the old brain is still nicely ticking over, thank you."

She merely grins before dragging him into the bakery.

He is amused at the way her eyes light up as she eyes the sweet treats in the glass cabinets. As he orders them both a cappuccino, she muses over flaky baklavas, sumptuously sticky with pistachio and honey, and contemplates chunky banana-nut muffins, their moist sponge toppings spilling generously over their paper cases.

"You know what you want?" he questions, hiding a smile as he selects a square of sugary short-bread for himself.

"Mmm…" Karen is clearly concentrating hard; her undivided attention is firmly focused on the delectable goodies laid out infront of them, "well, the cheesecake looks good…" the biscuity base is indeed golden and inviting- a crispy graham cracker, the mascarpone cheese at least three inches thick.

Her eyes then brighten as one of the bakers approaches the cabinets, a tray in hand of warm, spicy smelling, beautifully iced gingerbread men, fresh out of the oven, and Bill realises that the choice has unconsciously been made for her. She's like a kid as she points out which one she wants- golden and with a bright iced smile and white chocolate chips- the decoration is gaudy, not a sophisticated presentation like _he_ himself would use. He frowns, slightly put-out.

They find a table and Karen digs in eagerly.

"Good?" he proffers expectantly as he sips his cappuccino, his eyes are speculating.

Her mouth is full of course, so she can only smile and shrug. Her voice is mild, "not as good as the ones _you _make." She is honest and isn't just saying it to appease him, for she and Bill are always honest with each other. This isn't as good by a long-shot. Sure it's tasty but it isn't as soft to chew and the bite isn't as spicy. The aftertaste is somewhat bland. It is lacking that certain something extra that Bill's cookies_ always_ seem to have in abundance. It's missing that little _je ne sais quoi_ that her husband's gingerbread men have and for a second she ponders the difference.

_Love_, she reasons with a fond smile as she looks at her husband who is clearly trying to hide his curiousity as to how she likes the snack; Bill's cookies are always made with love. And that is the difference between store bought and home-made. Store bought might _look_ more elaborate, be somewhat overly done to a point, but _they_ are made with autonomy, not with the care and consistency Bill puts into making every one of his dishes.

"I should be honoured," he remarks with a self-deprecating grin as he regards her, feeling somewhat relieved by her indifference, "this bakery is one of DC's best."

Karen smiles and sureptitiously steals a bite of his shortbread, contemplating the rest of the weekend and wondering if she can sweet-talk him into making more cookies for her when they get home; "I much prefer the bakery of Bill Buchanan. At least _there_ I know the food is made with love."

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**A/N:** Ah well, got rid of the block.


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